Rhapsody, Child of Blood (53 page)

'I guess we won't be questioning her," Achmed said, looking down at the body of the woman.

Shame suddenly flushed Rhapsody's face. "I'm sorry," she said.

'What are you sorry about?" Achmed said, annoyed. "Who knows who or what she was; she had to be taken down. You did it. It would have been handy to torture a few answers out of her, but sometimes you just have to address the situation as it happens.

Is it serious?"

'What?" Rhapsody asked, confused by the question.

'Your shoulder—is the wound serious?"

'Hmm? Oh. No, it's not deep." Rhapsody looked down at the gash. "It can wait."

'Poison?" Achmed moved close enough to smell the wound.

'I don't think so."

'All right, let's see if there's any more company," Achmed said. He lifted the crossbeam that leaned against the wall and barred the door to the room before heading to the stairs. "Just to be sure any unexpected guests have to knock first."

Chey searched the rest of the tower, climbing the stairs quickly and quietly, but found no sign of any other occupants. The higher rooms were where the soldiers they had fought had quartered themselves, and on the top floor was a large suite which had undoubtedly been the home to the woman in white, though there were signs that a man also had been there.

In that room they found a small chest, securely bound, which they took downstairs to examine when they were certain the rest of the House of Remembrance was clear. A quick search of the rest of the structure revealed a series of cloisterlike rooms that had not been occupied, and a kitchen that had been used recently.

-

Rhapsody started looking for a key with which to open the children's manacles, finally discovering one on a chain around the dead woman's neck. She hurried back to the hall where they were imprisoned and quickly began unlocking them, speaking to them in low, comforting tones.

In the absence of the two Bolg the children seemed to warm to her quickly, except for the girl named Jo, who continued to eye her with suspicion. Rhapsody went from child to child, speaking quietly to them and humming, comforting them as best she could for the moment. It seemed to work, and eventually even Jo seemed to relax a bit.

Meanwhile, Achmed deftly picked the locks on the small chest they had found in the rooms above. In it he found a few baubles, which he passed to Grunthor, who kept their supply of tender and coinage; a small notebook; a sealed scroll; and a large brass key with four blades and strange teeth.

Carefully he opened the scroll and saw that it was written in an ancient script which he could not read, but its form and format was clear and familiar to him. It was a contract. He called to Rhapsody.

She entered the room with a long trail of children behind her. There were fifteen in all, mostly under the age of twelve. The youngest of them clung to her, and on entering the tower library hid behind her from the two large monsters that had been their rescuers.

'It's all right, Feldin," Jo said to a Lirin boy of about seven. "They may be ugly as shit, but they set us free. They can't possibly do anything worse to us than was planned." Grunthor snickered.

'We won't do anything to you except return you home," Rhapsody said with a smile.

Looking into her radiant face, the quivering children believed her.

'Look at this," Achmed said, walking over to Rhapsody. The children cleared out of his way quickly.

Rhapsody took the scroll and studied it for a moment. A frown came over her face, but it passed quickly.

'This is in Ancient Serenne," she said. "Isn't that odd? This is the tongue Llauron wanted me to learn; I didn't bother to tell him I already knew a little of it. It's a dead language. I mean, it was a dead language even when we left the Island. It was the tongue of the Firstborn, the Ancient Seren, the original inhabitants of the Island. But look at this scroll, the vellum is not really very old."

'Can you read it?" Achmed asked.

'I think so," Rhapsody said. "It's a musical language, and my mentor taught me most of the fundamentals—wait. I was wrong. The letters are the old script, but it's written in the language of men—I mean the common tongue of the people of these lands. Just give me a minute and I'll read it through." Rhapsody walked over to one of the desks, sat down, and positioned two books to hold open the scroll. She took off her own pack, pulled out a piece of poorly tanned hide, and began jotting down notes on it.

As she did, the children swarmed around her, except for Jo, who moved over to the pile of bodies that Grunthor was quickly stacking in one corner of the room. Noticing this, Rhapsody considered moving the children into a different room, but quickly realized that, at least from this room, the bodies of the slaughtered children were not as visible as they were from some of the other rooms.

Only a day before, the greatest sorrow she had tried to assuage in a small child was the loss of the mother of Lord Stephen's children. Now she had in her care children who had suffered unimaginable trauma. She swallowed the lump in her throat, hoping she would be up to the task of helping them heal once they were free of this place.

Achmed leafed quickly through the small notebook. Unlike the other, it seemed to be written in the common tongue of this land. The letters were similar to those he knew, and so with some difficulty he began to skim through it.

It appeared to be a journal, like the kind scholars and scribes used while jotting down notes. Its text was about a lost city, though he was uncertain he was reading it correctly. He was more interested in the map that had been sketched in the book, and the reference to the brass key.

A smile crawled across his face when he recognized the name Gwylliam, and saw a marker on the map in an area distinctly denoted as Firbolg lands. Canrif. They had a map.

'Achmed, Grunthor, I've got it," Rhapsody said, holding up the sheepskin translation.

"It's a contact. It was signed in the first hour of the Equinox, in the one-thousand-three-hundred-and-ninety-sixth year since the arrival of the fleet; I'm not sure which one that means, probably the First Wave, I would guess.

-

'The parties involved are Cifiona—I guess that would be the woman with the big dagger—and someone called the Rakshas, and through him his master. That's strange; his master is not referred to by name.

'She is apparently to receive, for services rendered, 'life unending.' I wonder if this really means immortality." She looked up at her friends, and the expression in her eyes matched theirs; the nature of the contract and its participants was becoming clearer.

"Apparently she also agrees to be bound to the master; maybe this is a sort of marriage contract."

'I doubt it," said Achmed. He had been the unwilling party of a contract like this once.

Rhapsody's face was twisted in disgust. Grunthor was growing impatient.

'Well, miss? What else does it say?"

'

'Among those services shall be counted the commitment of the blood sacrifice of thirty-three persons of innocent heart and untouched body of human descent, and an equal number of Lirin or half-Lirin origins,' " Rhapsody read. She looked at Achmed. "I saw three in the courtyard. Do you think there were others?"

'No, I don't think so," he replied. "The amount of dried blood indicates the equipment is fairly new; I'd say this was the first round." He watched her sigh in relief and go back to reading, ignoring Grunthor's look of doubt.

'It has some nonsense about a particular undertaking, but doesn't explain what that is, except that it's what the blood is to be used for. I think this word is'sustenance.'

Then it sets the date of completion of service as the time of the Patriarch Rite of the following year, and the venue to be the House of Remembrance, of which this'the Rakshas' person is apparently now considered Master. That's nice; I wonder what those First Generation Cymrians would think of that."

'Well, speakin' as one myself, Oi can't say Oi'm too please about it."

'And here below it is signed: Cifiona—something—I can't tell, and then simply

'Rakshas,' with these symbols next to it."

Rhapsody showed them the two signs, the first of which appeared to be a character in an unknown language, which neither Achmed or Grunthor recognized.

'I think I've seen this one before," Rhapsody said, pointing to the second symbol, a circle formed from a spiraling line.

'Where?" demanded Achmed. The sudden fury in his voice made her jump.

'It's a hex sign on Llauron's front door, or something like it."

The sight of the second symbol had clearly unnerved the assassin. He took the document and placed it back in the small chest. Rhapsody tossed her translation in as well.

'Let's get out of here," Achmed said.

'Wait, there's something I have to do," Rhapsody said, pulling out her higen and a small bag that Llauron had given her.

'What, you're going to compose a song about the beautiful things we've seen today?"

'No," Rhapsody said with a touch of impatience. "I'm going to see if I can heal that tree."

'Why?" Achmed's tone was tinged with irritation.

'Because it is a Sagian Oak, or hadn't you noticed? To me it's sacred. Lord Stephen said it was planted from a sapling brought by the Cymrians from Serendair. That means it is a sapling of Sagia. Even though I have regrets about leaving the Island, I am grateful to the Tree that let us escape the death that came after. The least I can do is try to heal its child."

'Not to be disrespectful, miss, but it's not a child, it's just a tree."

'No," Achmed said, looking in the direction of the garden. "Go ahead."

'Thank you," Rhapsody said, surprised at his willingness. "Just look after the children for a moment and I'll be right back."

'Excuse me?"

'Well, I can't very well take them into the garden, can I?" Rhapsody whispered. "I don't even want to go there myself; there are dead children in there."

'That's all right, miss; we'll look after them."

Achmed glared at Grunthor, but he did not disagree. As Rhapsody left the room, he sat on the edge of one of the desks and returned to reading the small black notebook.

Grunthor continued to rifle the bodies for valuables and stack them in a pile in the corner. All the children, aside from the oldest girl, stayed together, anxiously watching the door through which the Singer had left.

cXhapsody had to fight down her rising gorge as she rapidly made her way across the garden to the diseased tree at its center. Even in its withered state, the silvery-white bark was unmistakable. She blinked back tears at the memory of the one and only time she had ever seen Sagia, this tree's mother, whose story she had learned from her own.

When she reached the large oak she looked over its bark and the tips of its branches. Using the lore taught to her by Llauron as well as the knowledge from her own life, she quickly realized the tree was not dead, and began humming a tuneless song, its melody matching the whispers of a song that still reverberated from its ailing heart. It was the same familiar tune that had run through her soul all the while she had traveled along the Root. She opened the bag she had been given in Gwynwood and pulled out a tiny tube of ointment, then began to care for the dying oak.

Running her hands over the tree, Rhapsody uncovered three of the larger root trunks, and followed them down to smaller branchings, looking for the ends. Steeling her nerve, she crossed much of the garden, trying to avoid looking at the grisly sights, until she found some of the tiniest filamental roots. She coated the hair-thin strands with ointment, soaking the soil around them.

By the time she had anointed the first root, her song had gained a rhythm and a tune; when she had finished the third, her voice was strong and she was singing in a mixture of Old Cymrian, the language of her father, and the tongue of the men she had faced this day.

Devli protar hin elenin, Hope is a safe anchor, Long was your journey at sea Vidsuol hin yl gornit marbeth, Time is the best healer, And whole once more now you will be Calenda o skidoaun, Calenda o verdig, A year of snow, a, year of plenty, You've suffered the cold and the gloom Ovidae tullhin kaf san; ni wyn bael faerboo, Sometimes there's no summer, but always there's spring, And in the spring you shall bloom A fynno daelik, gernal federant, He who would be healthy, let him be cheerful, So hold this song in your soul Yl airen er iachad daelikint, A song of joyous healing, Sing it until you are whole.

Rhapsody had never written an original song of healing before, and inwardly she cringed at the poor verse. She had used for the main lyric adages from the old world, words of wisdom spoken by the people who had come here, part of their folklore, and somehow the music spoke to the tree. The song seemed to flow through its roots, moving up through the trunk and branches until it touched the leafless twigs.

Still humming the tune, she picked up the higen and ran her fingers along its curved wood frame. The higen was her greatest treasure; it was the first instrument she mastered, and it had helped her learn the science of Naming. It was fashioned from wood from the old world, like the tree itself.

Rhapsody began to play an accompaniment to her song on the higen. The tune remained simple and clear as the notes leapt from her fingers, and slowly the tree began to respond. She could almost feel the sap move through its branches, restoring life where death had been lurking. The vibration of the song reached the smallest twigs, causing them to bring forth tiny green buds, the precursor of leaves that would come in the spring.

Rhapsody took the higen and set it in the highest crotch she could reach, right above the first hollow of the trunk. It continued to play, fueled by the tree itself singing the song in response. She smiled as the tree returned to life, then turned and headed back to her friends and the children.

On her way back through the garden Rhapsody passed a long, flat table, largely hidden beneath a blanket of snow. When she had hurried past it on the way to the tree she had presumed it was a garden bench of some kind, but now she felt compelled to stop and look at it again. As she did, an image formed, unbidden, in her head.